


The Divine are here for money of course.

by FeliciaAmelloides



Series: A Oneshot a Day... [110]
Category: Plebs (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Death, Don’t Take This Seriously Please, Gen, Humour, Magical Elements, Not a Major Character dw, Plebs Being Plebs, Stylax is Alive, idiocy, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaAmelloides/pseuds/FeliciaAmelloides
Summary: Stylax brings home a boy who can tell the future. What do the plebs decide to do about it? Start a business of course!





	The Divine are here for money of course.

**Author's Note:**

> To try to get everyone in character, I watched a few episodes of Plebs and tried to replicate the general style. I’ve also been working on the way my writing is presented (more body language, less ‘telling’ and more ‘showing’ and a few other tweeks), so I hope that it reflects in this.
> 
> I love Plebs and I miss Stylax (I get that his actor is probably busy since he’s been in a lot of other shows as of late, but I still miss the character), so he’s alive in this for some reason.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> ((the ‘tweek’ thing was a South Park reference I’m not sorry))

“Hey guys. Look what I found.” Stylax said with a mischievous grin as he stood in the doorway of him and his roommates’ shared apartment. He kept his hands folded behind his back to conceal something. Marcus shot him a disapproving glare from the other side of the room, while Grumio shrugged and gnawed on a hunk of chicken.

“It’d better not be another erotic drawing from that homeless man down the road. It didn’t even _look_ like Cynthia last time.” Marcus huffed, already imagining the thousands of possibilities for what his best friend could be hiding. All of them were stupid, some more than others.

“Eh, you take what you get.” Grumio commented blandly between bites. As usual he was draped over the couch, tunic spread out so that no one else could get a seat. Stylax walked further into the apartment, grim only widening as his eyes glittered with something that could only be described as the formation of a terrible idea.

“Actually, it’s even better. I present to you,” With a dramatic flourish, the shredder dragged a young boy out from behind him. He stumbled, nervously making his way into the apartment before flashing them the faintest of smiles, “Quentinus!”

“I-it’s Quintillus.” The boy corrected as he shifted restlessly. Marcus’ frown deepened. 

“You _kidnapped_ a child and then brought him _here_?” He exclaimed, brows furrowed and cheeks tinted red in his anger. Marcus rose fully out of seat and stormed towards Stylax, taking the child’s hand and pulling him further into the room.

“I didn’t kidnap him! He’s a runaway slave. But that’s not all!” He added the last part quickly at the sight of Marcus’ expression, “ _Quintillus_ here can tell the future.” The brunet standing in front of him gave him an unimpressed look. Grumio, however, was actually quite interested. Attention caught, he rose from his seat and went over to the others to examine the boy. 

“He told you that, did he?” Marcus asked with heavy sarcasm, eyeing the boy suspiciously. He looked like an ordinary slave- scruffy, dirty hair, dirty clothes, skinny... The only thing missing was the dull glint of hopeless eyes. This boy’s emerald eyes glimmered with possibilities, opportunities and hope. 

“Yes. It is in my nature to speak the truth.” Quintillus spoke formally, adopting a tone of respect Marcus wished Grumio had picked up when his parents just bought him.

“Exactly. Now listen up. I didn’t just take this kid home for no reason,” Stylax leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially to the others, “We could totally use his power to get rich.” The thought of money immediately intrigued Marcus. Of course, the kid was most likely a fake, but if they were rich... Maybe he’d finally stand a chance of getting laid. Or something. Yeah. Something...

“How’d we do that?” Grumio piped up, looking between his friends. At this Stylax smiled, his ego telling him they were sold. He proceeded to explain his plan.

“You know how people can set up stalls in the street for a couple of denaris? Well, if we made a fortune-telling stall, people would flock to it! Knowing your future is getting popular now. Loads of people do it.” For once, both of Stylax’s roommates had matching reactions to his plan- a look of apathy to rival even the most faceless statue.

“Okay, you’re getting ahead of yourself here. How do you even know that this kid can tell the future? He’s a runaway slave- he’d make up anything to get free.” Always the voice of reason, Marcus spoke the suspicions someone should have voiced the moment Stylax mentioned the future. At this, however, Quintillus himself answered.

“As I said before, I speak only the truth. However, I understand your suspicions. I shall prove to you that I possess knowledge of what is to come.” Quintillus bowed, his blond hair falling into his face. Looking at him more closely made Marcus realise that he wasn’t quite as ordinary as he’d once thought. There was a certain _il ne sait quoi_ about the boy which made him... alluring. No, not like that, Jupiter! It was more in the sense that if Stylax had dragged in any other kid off the street Marcus wouldn’t have seen anything magical about him. But this boy was different.

“How will you do that?” He asked slowly, trying to shake off the growing feeling that the boy wasn’t at all what he seemed. Quintillus didn’t answer his question for a whole minute, instead closing his eyes and giving the impression of deep thought.

When he finally answered, it was in a pensive, sagely way which matched the look in his shining deep green eyes. “In about thirty seconds from now, a man you’ve never seen before will knock on your door and ask you if you’ve seen a child with blond hair, blue eyes and a messy appearance. He is a runaway slave and you will be paid handsomely for finding him. Before either of you,” He gestured to Marcus and Stylax, “Can reveal the child’s location, you,” He pointed at Grumio, “Deny this claim, forcing the man to leave empty-handed. The reason for this is that the man was incorrect in his assumption about my-“ Suddenly Quintillus gasped and raced into the apartment to cower behind the couch.

Immediately following this, a loud knock was heard at the door. The three plebs turned slowly in unison. Marcus was the first to act, reaching out to open the door. There stood a strange man in a dark tunic with a stoic expression.

“Good afternoon... _gentlemen_ ,” He uttered the title with a begrudging formality, “I am here on behalf of my employer to ask if you have seen a small boy pass through here. He is a child with blond hair, blue eyes and a messy appearance. A runaway slave- better off dead if you ask me,” He cleared his throat. None of the plebs said a word. The man awkwardly continued, “A-anyway, your will be paid handsomely for any information.” Just before Marcus and Stylax could yell that they had the slave, Grumio answered.

“We haven’t seen him. Sorry mate.” Both Marcus and Stylax shot him death glares. The man frowned, but nodded tersely.

“Alright. Report here if you do.” He procured a small sheet of yellowing parchment from nowhere with an address written on it in black, spidery handwriting. And with that, he was gone.

Once they had made sure the stranger wasn’t listening, the shredders rounded on Grumio.

“Grumio, why did you say that?” Marcus hissed, the typical furious expression having returned to his face after about five minutes absence.

“We could have been rich!” Stylax wailed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“But we didn’t see a slave.” Grumio paid them no mind, instead stubbornly reiterating his earlier damning statement.

“He’s right there!” Marcus roughly shot a finger towards the still-cowering Quintillus, who was peeking out at them from behind the couch fearfully.

“He doesn’t have blue eyes. It’s not him.” Marcus was about to scream in response, but Stylax excitedly spoke before he could. 

“Guys! Don’t you see? Quentinus- Quenny- Quin- Okay, what sort of name is that anyway?” Directing this at Quintillus caused the boy to emerge from behind the sofa to politely answer.

“The name of a future emperor. And it’s _Cwin- tee- yus_.” Anger flashed in the boy’s eyes at the second mispronunciation of his name since he entered the apartment. Stylax brushed him off.

“Okay, Cwinteeyus, whatever. Anyway, Quin’s prophecy came true! He predicted the future!” Both plebs stared at him in shock (well, mild amusement clouded by apathy for Grumio). 

“I did tell you that.” Quintillus interjected, feeling a little bit proud of being accepted by adults. Free adults at that.

“So you really _can_ predict the future?” Marcus asked, despite them all already knowing the answer. He nodded calmly.

“Then that settles it! _Gentlemen._ ” Stylax mimicked the way the stranger had spoken at the door earlier. Grumio sniggered while Marcus frowned, “Let’s get rich.” 

*

“This is a terrible idea, Stylax.” Marcus said for the fifth time as he arranged a dead rabbit’s skin over the broken wooden chair they had set up in the middle of their tent. The chair, dubbed the ‘Throne of Infinite Possibilites’ was (according to Stylax) their ticket to authenticity.

 _”All good fortune-tellers have a fancy throne to sit on. It’s what makes them legit.”_ He had proclaimed. Marcus wasn’t so convinced.

Grumio stood outside the front of the tent wearing a light pink dress. His hair was styled into vague pigtails and a red line shone on his lips. This was (again, according to Stylax) ‘advertising at its finest’. And the weirdest part was that it actually seemed to be working. Already a small crowd had formed outside their tent to witness ‘the boy who sees the future’. Or maybe they were just laughing at the plebs running the stall. It was... hard to tell.

“Welcome to our Tent of Fortune! Would you like to get a reading?” Marcus asked, trying to sound flirtatious as an incredibly beautiful girl sidled up to the front of the tent. 

“Oh yes, I’d love to! Do you do couple readings?” She asked with a brilliant smile. Shit.

“Um, no, I’m afraid not. Goodbye.” Feeling weirdly defensive and more than a little dejected, he turned her away. She glared at him harshly, clearly not enjoying the rude treatment. 

“Fine.” With a huff, she turned on her heel and strode away. Stylax, who had been watching Marcus’ ‘performance’ gave him a judgmental stare for his efforts.

“I think I’m going to greet the customers from now on.” He stared simply. Marcus sighed and nodded in defeat. 

“Yes, I think that would be for the best.”

Meanwhile, Quintillus was sitting on his throne making readings to excitable customers. He would close his eyes after each question they asked him, then open them again and answer to the best of his abilities. Marcus had told him to skirt round the truth a little when he had done ‘practise readings’ on the plebs, which was partially due to his prediction about the man dying a virgin. He decided just to roll with it. After much haggling with Stylax, he had earned 50% of the profits after all.

“So what do you think? Does he like me?” A teenage girl asked him earnestly. Quintillus had actually predicted that the boy in question was going to be brutally murdered in about five minutes, but he was going to take Marcus’ advice and let the girl down easy.

“No.” He answered calmly. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth as tears brimmed in her eyes, before running out of the tent bawling. He smiled softly to himself. Her storm of emotions would actually save the young man’s life, leading to him becoming a world famous producer of hand-crafted codpieces.

Stylax entered the main part of tent after a few minutes to check on Quintillus. “Hey Quen- uh, Quin. Sorry,” he muttered apologetically upon seeing Quin’s glare, “How’re the predictions going?” 

“Well. I believe we have made much profit from this.” Quintillus smiled a little, knowing that it wasn’t going to end well for any of them. He wouldn’t say that though. His predictions were supposed to be positive after all.

“That’s great! And we’ll make more by the end of the day, right?” Quintillus paused. His mind said ‘no’, but his conscience said ‘yes’. After a moment’s conflicted deliberation, he stiffly nodded. Stylax’s smile widened. He bought the lie.

Then a group of men burst into the tent and restrained the plebs while they grabbed Quintillus to return him to his master. Stylax gave him a disbelieving look while Marcus just nodded as if he himself had predicted the outcome of such a plan, and Grumio simply ate a flower a young man had offered him earlier.

By the time the public execution of the future-telling Jupiter-hating heathen known to some as Quintillus was over, life had gone back to normal. As for their profits, however? Well, they were seized along with Quintillus, but at least they had the experience. Or something. Yeah...

**Author's Note:**

> Quintillus, as you may know if you’ve read any of my other oneshots, is my pet rubber duck (?)/ OC named after the Roman Emperor Quintillus. In this oneshot he’s plot device, but since I was writing about Rome I thought it might be fun to include him~ His personality changes every single time I write him, but I think that only adds to his charm.
> 
> Prompt- A few idiots doing something.
> 
> Innuendos aside (this would have been smut if these oneshots weren’t SFW), the first thing I thought of when I read this prompt (second, actually) was Plebs. So there you go!
> 
> Original Number- 9.


End file.
